


The Conditions of Being His

by fairxv



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Crimes & Criminals, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Language, F/M, Falling In Love, Flashbacks, Forbidden Love, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Like really slow, Love/Hate, Memory Loss, Mild Sexual Content, Morally Ambiguous Character, Nen (Hunter X Hunter), Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, Yorkshin City | Yorknew City (Hunter X Hunter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:48:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25500907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairxv/pseuds/fairxv
Summary: A year ago, you woke up in an abandoned building and were found by the Hunter's Association, where they tell you that you've been missing for over a year. You can't remember anything before waking up - and despite multiple specialist's best efforts, no one can recover your memories. All they have is a few grainy snapshots of you and a mysterious man who can't be located.Yet, as you take it upon yourself to retrace your steps and unravel your past, you begin to realize that maybe you weren't meant to remember... maybe this was all his plan after all.-Chrollo x Reader -
Relationships: Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed him."

“Who is the man.”

There are several answers that come to the front of your mind, faces flashing like snapshots in your mind, none of them the correct answer, though you know that selecting one of them with a frown will be believable enough. She doesn’t want the right answer, only an answer. Your therapist, a soft, plump woman named Noir, had been digging through pieces of your dreams for the better half a year after you were found.

A year, the thought rings out in your quiet mind. You try to keep it limited, as Noir has an uncanny ability to decode your thoughts based off the way your pupils dilate. You have a sneaking suspicion that it’s her nen ability, but if it is, she never lets on. Instead, you lift your eyes to her, the first eyes you saw upon rescue.

You’d been missing for over a year when they found you, not that you could recall a life before him anyway. You were starving, so clearly terrified and weak by whatever trouble you had gotten mixed up in. She had tried to unravel it, working through fragmented memories, attempting to piece together a coherent narrative that would somehow give some explanation to your current state.

The last time you’d been seen, you were a headstrong hunter, stubborn to a fault, propelled forward by a wild, uncontained passion to do good in the world. Now, as she beheld you, you were a shadow of the woman that had passed the hunter exam. And so, Noir began her work, unraveling, twisting, piecing and refitting the bits and pieces she gathered from you, from city data that placed you at certain areas at certain times, always accompanied, always followed by people just out of your sight.

“Who is the man, (Name)?”

She asks this question again, gentler, giving you a soft smile when you finally look at her once more.

“I don’t remember.”

It isn’t a lie. Truthfully, since you’d been recovered, you had no idea what had happened. An entire year of memories faithfully wiped from your brain aside from the pieces that lingered in the cracks that had formed as a result. But you know what she’s talking about. The man at question was the only person you could be connected to, the only person on cameras with you, the reason you’d evaded the hunter’s until a year ago.

Noir shows you the photograph again. The man stands at an average height, dressed in fitted black trousers, a loose white button-down with a matching black jacket, with an olive colored headband over his forehead. His jet-black hair hangs loosely over his young face, nearly hiding the peculiar blue orb-shaped earrings he wore.

Despite their best efforts, no hunter had been able to decode the identity of the man. There were no birth records, no sightings. It was as if he simply disappeared when you were found. You starred at the photograph, eyes narrowing, observing his features. You spent quite a bit of time staring at the photo, awaiting the moment that something clicked.

You knew from these photographs and grainy screenshots from security camera footage that you knew this man, were quite clearly comfortable with him, yet as you gazed upon his face for the hundredth time, nothing in you recognized him. He was a stranger, in every sense.

“I don’t know Noir,” You huff, dropping it to the table between the two of you, “I don’t recognize him.”   
“At all?”   
“Nope, not in the slightest.”

Noir sighs gently, opening a file in front of her to slip the photograph back in. The security camera footage and photographs placed you in Yorknew City around the time of various auctions, and around the time of a massive massacre by members of the Phantom Troupe. Noir theorized that the man had either escaped or been killed, as some areas, though covered in blood, lacked any real carnage. Some bodies had been removed, disposed of it seemed.

You weren’t sure why they seemed so intent on finding this man, and you were blatantly aware that Noir doubted you when you told her you didn’t remember. She looked upon you with urgency and distrust, keeping you at a distance at all times. You’d had the nerve once or twice to ask if she knew, and was simply keeping it from you, but all those times you watched her face go cold, watched her jaw clench tightly as she shut the file and asked you, politely, if she had given you any reason so far to distrust her.

You suspected now that they knew who the man was, and that he must have gotten himself in a fair bit of trouble. You suspected that she made up the story about his disappearance or death, to see if you would say something knew. But truthfully, you had no idea who the man was. If he was a criminal, he’d clearly spared you, for some odd reason.

“Why do you want to find him so badly,” You asked carefully, picking at your nails.

Noir looked up at you from the file, eyes only slightly surprised.

“Because, we want to help you, (Name). He could be a key figure in your recovery, if you were able to remember him.”  
“I just think that after a year of trying, I’m not going to remember him or who he was. I don’t remember anything from then, Noir. I think that it’s time to look at other things.”

You’d given up trying to understand your absence, trying to piece together what had happened. Whatever it was, it left you unable to remember it, whether that was through extensive trauma or nen, no one had a clear idea. They’d brought in specialists who swore they could unravel you, only for them to turn up empty. There was nothing to unravel. Usually, there was something that indicated that the mind had been tampered with, memories alter. It was a lingering memory that sat someplace it shouldn’t, altered brain waves, patterns. For all extents, however, you were entirely normal.

“I think that this is our best option, (Name). Let’s try again tomorrow. We have another specialist coming in.”

Another specialist, you thought numbly. Every time they’d come in, scramble your memories back up and leave you confused for days. It left you oblivious, confused, speaking gibberish, and contained to the small hospital room. Every time they tried it, it got progressively worse. You weren’t sure how to explain it, the fact that quite frankly, you were never going to remember this man. For everything they had tried up until now hadn’t worked, if all the best specialists could come in and find nothing, maybe there was nothing to find at all. For what was lost could never be returned.

As you return to your small apartment, the sun shining overhead, you picture the man once more. If you could remember, it would all be over, that would be it. But no, this enigma, quite simply seemed to want to stay hidden, if he remained alive at all. It almost hurt, his abandonment. When they found you, you were alone in an abandoned building, crouched in a corner. It’d taken a week of work from various specialists to get you to speak, to somewhat resemble who you were before. But even then, they’d noted, there was something notably absent.

For what you were before, she was lost. Your friends who visited you only stayed for a month or so, before realizing that this was not an illness to be recovered from. You were not the hunter you were before, but an entirely new person, formed through trauma. They stopped coming around once you got released from the hospital.

It left you longing, longing for the life you held before, despite not being able to remember most of it. You could remember being a hunter, the hunter exam, the characters you met as a result. Gaining your license, exploring the city, checking out the Hunter’s only websites and places. You were looking for something, investigating. What, you couldn’t recall. You’d searched your entire apartment up and down, every nook and cranny, combed your way through your browser history in an effort to find something that might lead you in the right direction.

Your hunters license was the only evidence that any of it had happened. You carried it with you everywhere but hadn’t used it since. Noir thought it would be detrimental to your recovery, trying to return to hunter activities so soon. But it’d been over a year, and for whatever reason, you’d worked your ass off to get to it, propelled by some desire you couldn’t understand anymore. Maybe it was what you needed to remember, going back to being a hunter.

Everytime the thought entered your mind, it led you to a single thought, a single idea.

Return to Yorknew City.

Return to the place it’d all gone wrong, retrace your steps through what camera footage had been recovered. It seemed like the logical next option, more logical in your mind than allowing someone to go digging through your mind and leave you incapacitated for days.

The more you thought about it, the more tempting it became. You knew you shouldn’t do it, knew that it was most likely just going to leave you more depressed, but at this point, what other option was there? Continuing to allow specialists to pick your mind? Continue allowing Noir to look upon you disapprovingly, disappointed?

Yorknew City, the bustling, grey-scaled scrawling metropolis, the place it had all began and ended for you in a single instant. You’d gone there searching for someone but left with nothing, everything you were – taken from you, ripped away without you ever knowing. Whatever had happened, something had been stolen from you. And it was time.

It’s time to return to Yorknew City.


	2. Chapter Two

The bustling metropolis unfolded around you in one massive greyscale, skyscrapers as far as the eye could see. Yorknew City, which housed nearly a quarter of the area’s population in September alone, was quiet upon arrival. The streets were nearly empty, shops just beginning to open to the public as the sun lazily rose over the horizon. Outside of September, Yorknew was a popular tourist attraction for its extensive variety of shops and cuisine, mostly inhabited by families on holiday, honeymooners, and of course, criminals.

While a tourist attraction, in September, Yorknew City was home to the most profitable, elusive auctions. To the mundane eye, the auctions were mostly artwork, vases, and old artifacts, spoils of a war long gone. However, you’d known for a long time that there was more to it. The Southernpiece Auction, the most prestigious, and sinister, of the auctions, sold more than just old artifacts and spoils of war. It dealt in flesh, both attained legally and through abhorrent means, highly sought-after video games, and other criminal artifacts.

The Hunter’s Association, to your knowledge, willfully ignores the auction. It wasn’t your place, you remind yourself, to hunt down the people bidding. Even knowing that it was run by an elite mafia community that regularly threatened the police force wasn’t enough for any hunters to step in. You yourself were well aware that doing so would land you in an unfavorable position with a multitude of powerful criminal leaders, and though you were confident in your nen, it wasn’t a burden you were prepared to take on. Not yet at least.

You walked the empty streets in silence, observing your surroundings, noting landmarks, trying to tie bits and pieces from obtained security camera footage. It’s odd, you think, not getting any sense that you’ve been here at all. You’d hoped, albeit wistfully, that returning would give you a sense of déjà vu, which would, in turn, spark some resurgence in your memory. You were on a mission, headed towards the tiny café that placed you with the man. It was a long shot, hoping that they could recall something that happened a year ago, but it was a start.

And if that wasn’t enough, you knew what might be. Again, it was a long shot, and yet, something propelled you towards the idea. The cluster of abandoned buildings on the edge of town had drawn you, some odd force pulling you forwards, the idea becoming more and more tempting as the moments drew on. You knew that you were found in an abandoned building, wondered if that was perhaps the pull that you felt, and yet, such an explanation seemed almost too easy, too simple. Maybe it was a remnant of your aura, your nen, a tiny piece left stagnant, all alone.

You couldn’t remember it exactly, being found by the team. You remembered the dank atmosphere of the vast building, the musty smell that lingered, damp newspapers stuck to the floor, trash clustering in corners. Half-burnt candles sat undisturbed on the windowsills, dried wax circling the sticks. You don’t remember them coming in, but you remember the room. Even in your memory, you can hear the mice, jumping around, searching for a discarded crumb.

They came in with flashlights, aura’s massive and building as if prepared for danger if it should come. But they found only you, curled up on a mysteriously clean bed, completely by yourself, devoid of the memories they so desperately wanted. You couldn’t remember much after that, them taking you away, the week-long hospital stay, the interrogations, the specialists. Noir never indulged you, calling such memories ‘useless in the long run’.

You knew they suspected you of something but never disclosed what. If you’d done something wrong, horribly wrong, you wanted to know. From what little you had to go off of, it had to do with the man, your memories, and this city.

“Well, never thought I’d see you here~”

You don’t register him at first, the smooth, taunting voice that registers in your ears. You feel his presence behind you, can feel the darkness of his aura. It’s dangerous, painfully so, and it makes you want to run now, abandon your original mission just to get away from him. And yet, the curious part of you wins out, your feet remain rooted to the ground, and you incline your head just so you can capture a glimpse of him over your shoulder.

The man is tall, mid to late twenties, but those aren’t the first features you take in. It’s his hair – so brightly red, and the intricately painted star and teardrop on his cheeks. Vaguely, you remember some distant meaning of a teardrop on the cheek but forget it when he takes another step towards you. This man, though vaguely familiar, incites such a sense of dread within you, it’s almost debilitating.

“Who are you?”   
“You don’t remember? What a shame… (Name).”

Slowly your legs allow you to turn to face him. Up close, you can see that he isn’t particularly ugly, not that you’d expected him to be. His skin, pale as eyes, is riddled with old scars that seem even whiter in the sunlight. He seems to notice you staring, and you watch the muscles flex beneath his skin, no doubt in a vain attempt at impressing you. You’re well aware from the expression on his face that he’s perfectly content to simply watch you, knowing that you’re afraid of him. His eyes, a brilliant gold, narrow at you, gleaming with unrestrained mischief.

“Seriously,” You brave, “what’s your name?”

The man leans back, tilting his head just so as if to get a better look at you. His body is almost lean, muscles hidden by the baggy crop-top he wears over a fitted, spandex undershirt. You’d be stupid here to assume that he was physically weak. Even though his shirt was baggy, you can see the taut muscles outlined through the undershirt, every shift in movement allowing them to press against the tight fabric.

“In time,” He purrs, “I have business with you.”

You can feel by his aura that this man is no one you should mess with, or test if you wanted to walk away with your life. You didn’t know his capabilities, and if he really did know you, he probably knew about your own nen abilities, knew how to evade it, while you were left a complete disadvantage. You couldn’t tell from his aura the type of user he was, but you could sense the bloodlust that seemed to radiate off of him in waves.

You try to hide your surprise when you end up in one of the abandoned buildings. There are too many for you to figure if it’s the one you were in or not. You don’t see any candles or evidence of such. No bed, only trash, but the smell is the same. The atmosphere is rigidly tense, but it’s clear judging from your surroundings that no one has been here in quite some time. The man that leads you here seems to know where he’s going, however, navigating around discarded trash and overturned furniture. His footsteps don’t make a sound, a curious observation, you note, that perhaps attests to his deadly aura.

“Does this place look familiar to you?” He asks, gazing at you over his shoulder.

He isn’t afraid to turn his back to you either.

“Not at all,” You answer, shoving your hands in your pockets, “why did you bring me here.”

The man stops, pulling himself up to sit on a windowsill. The way he looks at you is unnerving, and for a moment, you’re perfectly aware that he could kill you. Quite easily, and it may very well take them some time to find your body. You hadn’t told anyone where you were going, and though you doubted it would take them long to investigate Yorknew, by then it would be too late. You could die today.

“I am Hisoka,” He says, smiling, “and you and I used to be friends.”

You scoffed openly, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest.

“I doubt we were ever friends,” You shoot back, “you don’t look familiar at all.”

It’s a slight lie, but the way he looked. You would remember a face like that, an aura that palpable and deadly. You could have seen him on television or passing by. Judging from his scars he fought quite often, so it wouldn’t be a long shot to assume that he’d been to Heaven’s Arena.

“I wouldn’t,” he replies, composure untouched, “they wiped your memories clean.”

You freeze then, staring up at him. He knows, the thought bounces around in your mind. He would only know if it was true, that he knew you. No – he knew you before the wipe, and if he’d so cleverly decided to lead you here, a place so close to the one they’d found you in, he knew quite a bit about you.

“Who are you, Hisoka? And how do you know me.”

He chuckles, the sound echoing in the emptiness of the building. You wonder why he’s drug you out so far, away from any curious eyes. If he planned on killing you, you don’t think he would tell you his name, or that you used to be friends, it felt too personal. Yet still, maybe he was the type of person to enjoy that kind of killing, murdering someone you once knew, knowing that they knew exactly who you are. Maybe he wanted you to know him when he ripped the life from your body.

“As I said, we used to be friends.”   
“So what do you want with me now?”

Hisoka jumps down, landing with only the quietest thump. He doesn’t move closer to you, only leans against the wall, observing you.

“I want you to remember,” He says, “you see, I’m searching for some friends of ours. And I believe they told you where they were headed, before wiping your memory.”   
“I haven’t been able to remember in a year,” You scoff, “I doubt I’m going to now.”   
“You just need it jogged, that’s all,” Hisoka purrs, stalking close to you.

“Don’t come any closer,” You order, releasing your aura.

Hisoka stops, though you know he isn’t afraid of you. He’s only doing it to avoid the conflict, though you can tell he thrives from it. You can feel somewhere in you that you must know him, being able to assume so much from him. You’re thankful for it, it makes you feel like you aren’t at such a disadvantage, though you know it to be true.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” He says, “unless you asked ~”

You glare at him, your body growing exhausted from the weight of your aura. You hadn’t been using nen so much, coming home from Noir’s appointment’s exhausted. You’d grown rusty, and even if the two of you were once an even match, it’s clear to you that you’re worlds apart now.

“You want to know what happened, don’t you?”

Your curiosity is peaked, and Hisoka can tell. He knew he had you trapped before you ever entered the building, knew that the offer would be too tempting for you to pass up. You level your stare at him, finally withdrawing your aura. Hisoka grins, understanding your surrender, and you take a slow seat across from him on a pile of rocks. It’s not the most comfortable seat, but you suppose it’ll do for the time being.

“Get on with it then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't very long but i've literally been trying to write this chapter for three days now lmao. i just wanted to get something out, i promise Chrollo and the troupe are coming in soon, next chapter. so pls let me know what you guys are thinking so far, do we trust hisoka? ~ fairxv


	3. Chapter 3

You could taste victory on your tongue.

No other hunter had come as far as you had – whether out of fear or ignorance, no one had discovered the true identities of the members of the elusive Phantom Troupe. You’d gathered all the information you could from every Hunter website, every bounty hunter, marked what few incoherent patterns you could, pieced together victims. No one dared to get so close, but you did. Yorknew City, as majestic as it was deadly, would be their final resting place.

You’d honed your nen to this very moment, hunted them without being seen, till finally, you landed here. You’d defeated the odds, figured out who _he_ was. Chrollo Lucilfer, head of the Phantom Troupe, mysterious and absent from any online database. You’d discovered it by mistake, discovered the existence of a forgotten city that led you to him. You debated posting the information online, selling it to the highest bidder but knew that by doing so, you would reveal yourself to the troupe. It wouldn’t do you any good to be found out by all of them, you’d have a better chance at picking them off one by one or two at a time, but trying to defeat all of them at once would most likely end your life before you realized what was going on.

But easy money wasn’t your goal here. You’d get twice the payout if you killed them yourself, as well as a fair bit of fame. You weren’t above the challenge and knew that you would potentially die, but at the very least, you would go out trying to do good. You could have gathered a team, but it would take too long and would require you to fill them in on the details of the troupe, which then opened up to the possibility that they would then sell the information for themselves.

You had to be careful every step of the way in order to prevent them from catching wind of you. It required intense focus on your Zetsu, keeping in control for as long as you were near members of the troupe. If you released it too early, they would be able to sense your presence, and you wondered if they still be able to see past it. Yet, so far in your other trackings, no one had seen through your Zetsu.

You tracked them here, all the way to Yorknew City. The troupe was gathered in the same place for the first time ages, and though you debated picking them off one by one, you didn’t want them to have time to regroup, develop a strategy. You had to be quick and get out fast if you wanted this to be a success.

Truthfully, it wasn’t even your original intention to hunt the entire troupe. You’d gotten wind of a Hunter abusing their nen and attacking non-users and set off investigating them. It led you to a boy named Shalnark according to several reputable Hunter only forums. Through your own sources, you’d decoded a message he received detailing a meeting in Yorknew City. After speaking to another fellow hunter, you’d concluded that he was a part of the Phantom Troupe.

You were prepared to see if this was true, and so you followed the instructions sent within the message. It was around the time of an elusive, high-profile auction, so the city was on high alert, filled to almost the brim with the police force, armored vehicles, and businessmen going back and forth. You knew through using Gyo that none of them were who you were looking for, but you also doubted that a member of the Troupe was so careless as to allow an average hunter to spot them. They’d been on the run so long after all, and no hunter that went after them ever returned.

You waited at the tallest building in the city, standing on the balcony and watched the numerous cars that came in. You still had some time before the troupe met, you had to consider your moves carefully. There was still time to walk away, run before they ever realized that you were there. You could walk away now with your life. But it felt too late – as you stood on the balcony, overlooking the city. You’d left a note for your neighbor, instructed her to feed your animals, and if worse comes to worst, if you hadn’t returned after two weeks, to contact the Hunter's Association.

In your desk was your neatly written note declaring your intentions, revealing your discovery of the troupe, it’s members, what few abilities you were able to decode. At the very least, if you could not receive fame in life, it would be enough to be credited with their takedown in death. It felt cold, the realization that you were close to death, balancing on the edge. And yet, it was almost intoxicating, tempting you to go places you wouldn’t otherwise venture. Like dangling a bone in front of a dog, and you’d run so eagerly.

You took a breath, looking at your watch.

“Best get going,” You murmur to yourself, “wouldn’t want to miss this.”

You staked out the hideout.

You waited, crouched behind an overflowing dumpster, concealed through every angle. There was no movement within the building, no one going in or out. You’d waited for some burst of aura, even a whisper, but felt nothing for hours. Slowly, their meeting time passed, and you remained, your legs aching, burning from being in the same position for so long. Did the change the meeting sight? You’d pinpointed it here through coordinates, hadn’t been able to intercept any messages that postponed or moved it. So why? It made no sense how the area could be silent. Even the birds were quiet, you noted, the bustle of the city nothing more than a mere whisper.

It was unnerving, unnatural. You strained your ears, willing your heart to stop being so loud as you held your breath. Something was going on, something – a shuffle of a pair of footsteps. Footsteps right behind you.

You’d barely registered the hand that wrapped around your collar, but by the time you had enough sense to try to get a look at your attacker, you were drifting off into unconsciousness.

You could hear the murmurings long before you fully awoke. They were hushed, low voices. You felt the cool ground beneath your cheek, smelled the damp, musty air. You could feel your hands roped behind your back, wrists already burning from rope burn. It felt almost archaic, to be tied up when nen was a thing. There were certainly more conventional ways of subduing someone, you thought.

Your ear pressed to the ground, you can hear the multiple sets of footsteps, but still can decode what they’re saying. Your head is throbbing, mostly you ear-drums. You hadn’t realized it was a physical attack until after it had already happened. Dully, you registered that you were definitely, definitely, in a bit of trouble, and that you weren’t going to get out of it very easily, if at all. Slowly, you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and the whispers ceased.

“Sit her up.”

It’s the first coherent sentence you’re able to hear clearly without much straining. The voice is smooth, almost pleasant, and you’d think it attractive if they weren’t one of our captors. You feel hands around you, bringing you into a sitting position, leaned against something so you don’t slip back over. The rope around your wrists slips, allowing them free. Slowly, your bleary eyes open to look around you.

You’re in one of the abandoned buildings, surrounded by faces that are startlingly, terrifyingly familiar.

It’s the Phantom Troupe, you realize. They’d known you were there, outsmarted you before you even had a chance to realize what was happening. It didn’t matter if you’d walked away, you realized. You were already on the radar way before that. They were expecting you. Your zetsu was perfect, you’d done everything to make sure that it was, had kept quiet and concealed. You made sure to get there without anyone seeing you, so how?

“You’re going to kill me aren’t you.”

It’s the first sentence out of your mouth as you look around at the group. Just as your research had revealed, there were twelve of them, all staring at you with similar looks of distaste. You could easily put names to their faces, thanks to their distinctive looks, but one stands out to you – Chrollo. There were no photographs of him online, no images taken from grainy security cameras, old school photographs. There had been something somewhere from the rest of them, albeit usually blurry, but something. Yet him, he was an enigma.

You weren’t sure what you pictured their leader to look like – but not like this. This man was younger, couldn’t be older than thirty, with sleek black hair and eyes that were almost kind. In fact, if you met him on the street in normal streetwear, you might believe him to be a good person. But this man, you could never truly think him to be kind, or compassionate. This man led ceaseless massacres without remorse. This was the leader of the Phantom Troupe.

“Not unless you give me a reason to,” He replies, staring at you.

You observe the other troupe members. It feels like you’re trapped in some nightmare, where everything is blurry and painfully real while being almost fake at the same time. There are too many to take in once, but you’re able to note how distinct they are from each other. Some are outright evil, glaring at you with murderous intentions, clearly having no desire to allow you the chance at redeeming yourself. Others gaze at you with what could be considered curiosity, others abhorrence.

Your presence here divides them.

“Have I?”   
“Yes,” He answers calmly, “but I won’t.”   
“And why not?”

Chrollo chuckles, crossing his hands and allowing his chin to rest on them. His face is illuminated by the yellow glow of a dull candle, poised beside him. There are books all around him, evidence of a man unsatisfied, bidding his time, you realize. He wears a long coat with a fur-lined collar, pale chest displayed, allowing every hard-earned muscle to glow in the dim light, shadows casting off the ridges and planes. You have to be careful around him. You still have no idea what his ability is, what he alone is capable of.

The others might not be too bad. Uvogin, the large one that glowers at you with his arms across his chest relies primarily on his physical strength, most likely an Enhancer. You’d have to avoid confrontation with him, if able. He reminded you of a grizzly bear. The smaller one that stood next to you had curious eyes, the youngest looking of the group. Shalnark, you realize, the one you were originally after. He’s a hunter, so you know he’s proficient the same ways you are, but his ability is easy to divert if you’re careful.

He’s a manipulator, like you. Except, the conditions he’d placed upon his own abilities left him severely limited, you guessed. You were sure there were parts you didn’t know about yet, things he’d made sure where hidden. He’d be easy to evade, but if he caught you, there was no hope of returning alive.

Pakunoda regarded you cautiously, a gun balanced in one of her elegant hands, long fingers poised on the trigger, prepared to take action if necessary. Her ability had something to do with memory, but not much else as known amongst hunters.

“Indulge me,” he says, “I want to know how you found us.”   
“Why are we even giving her a chance,” Uvo gruffs, “she’s here to kill us.”

Chrollo says nothing, only continues to regard you with same curious, calm stare. You wonder how someone can be so composed, but it hits you then. He knows he’s got you cornered. He’s in no danger here, not from you. Between the two of you were twelve highly trained criminals that wouldn’t hesitate for even a second to gun you down the moment you so much as you shuffled an inch closer.

“And clearly thought herself competent enough to stand against us,” He says, “I want to know what she is.”

You say nothing, staring at his shoes. You don’t know what his ability is, and much as you don’t want to admit it, Uvo’s words are making you curious. Why not just kill you? If there were as elusive as it seemed, then it wouldn’t be hard to track back to your apartment, dig through your things to find your sources. If Pakunoda’s abilities had been correct, all it would take was her digging through your memories to get the answer’s Chrollo wanted.

“Why not ask her,” You say carefully, inclining your head towards her, “I could lie to you. People tend to do that sometimes.”   
“They do,” He agrees, “but I want to give you the chance to admit it.”

You didn’t want to. Even facing your own death, you were painfully stubborn. You’d come here so confident, you were ashamed that you’d failed to see how amiss things were. You’d been stupid to come by yourself, to chose to fight instead of living another day, when the odds were better. You’d never considered the odds that you may be captured before you had the chance to do anything. You’d been so focused on the glory, the short-lived glory that you’d accomplished something no other hunter had.

“Here, there, everywhere,” You reply, “a multitude of places.”   
“How did you find us here,” He pushes.

You pause, taking a breath. They were going to kill you, that much was true. There was no reason for them to leave you alive, and you knew too much about them for them to even consider letting you go. Maybe if you told they what they wanted, they’d grant you swift death.

“I’ll tell you what you want, if you can promise me something,” You offer, focusing your eyes on Chrollo.   
“Now she’s making conditions!”   
“Quiet,” Chrollo orders, “go on.”   
“Make it quick, when you kill me.”

It’s a foolish request. These people were known for their brutality, they’d take great delight in torturing you. They acted without remorse, without regret or fear of the consequences. They took, stealing everything in their path, from anyone. Selfish in every regard, a troupe built on a foundation that prioritized murder and dominance. You felt stupid for asking, but still.

Chrollo smiles, just slightly, “I haven’t decided if I’m going to kill you yet, but I’ll take it into consideration.”   
“If not kill me, then what?”   
“I keep you here,” He says, “till I can figure out just how powerful you are.”

He’s testing you, wanting to see what you’ll admit to him easily. So, you quiet yourself then, sitting back against the rocks. Chrollo seems to realize that you’re done talking and returns his attention to the troupe.

“Go,” he orders, “you have tasks.”

There’s no protest, only the shuffle of feet past you. Uvo is the only one openly dissatisfied, clearly upset that he doesn’t get to kill you immediately. Pakunoda wavers too, but her eyes are on you, but Chrollo. You see the hesitance in her eyes, the fierce loyalty that burns within her soul.

“Go, I’ll be fine,” he says, gentler this time.

In his interactions with his troupe, you might mistake him to be benevolent. Of course, you know what he’s capable of, and whatever fondness he feels towards them is purely artificial. This man could feel no true loyalties to them. In order to gain membership to the troupe, all one had to do was kill one of the current members. If he cherished them, you thought, why allow their murderer to fill their position?

Pakunoda leaves then, not bothering to look at you as she leaves. It’s you and Chrollo now, staring at each other. The air is tense, the smell of mold and the candles intermixing, the atmosphere growing more humid, hot as the seconds drew on. He’s intense, you think, refusing to look away from his eyes. He trusts his own strength, to be alone with you. You weren’t even a match for one of them, you thought. They would never be so stupid to allow themselves to be alone, not when someone like you could come along.

“It’s been quite a while since we’ve had someone come this close,” He explains finally, “You hid so well up until now.”

Was he flattering you? You couldn’t think of why he’d even bother but realized it didn’t really matter.

“Your zetsu slipped, just barely, allowing one of my members to sense your presence.”

 _Shit_. You knew the exact moment he was referring to, as well, much to your chagrin. He was right. It was right when you noticed how quiet it was. You’d been so focused on maintaining your zetsu, you hadn’t realized that they were already around, just hiding.

“We suspected, but we couldn’t be so sure,” He went on, “I would have killed you on the spot normally. But, I want to know what you are first.”

Your level your gaze with him. You aren’t getting out of this alive. He was going to kill you, whether you told him or not, and though you desperately wanted to cling to your pride, you realized that you had nothing in those moments. He had the upper hand, painfully so, and you were world’s away from ever coming close to harming him.

“What do you say, (Name)?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he's here! y'all i love chrollo, sm, and yet i always struggle to keep villains in character. like on one hand he's a mass-murderer but at the same time we also writing a "love" story here. how do you get characters who don't care about anyone but their friends to love someone who tried to kill them, lmao. i hope you guys are enjoying this so far! what are we thinking about chrollo's intentions?! - fairxv


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